Do you feel it?
by Martucch
Summary: Here was the difference between the two of them: when Morty assumed awareness, he could only be crushed, whether he rebelled, or surrendered. Rick was different. He was perpetually aware and able to decide the fate of the cosmos. So why did that knowledge make him drink so as not to think? Not to think that perhaps he too, after all, was helpless in the face of that awareness.
1. Come and watch TV

Bolt. Screwdriver. Fixing. Laser.

Again, from the beginning.

Bolt. Screwdriver. Fixing. Laser.

He had forgotten how boring and repetitive it was to change items and look for objects every time he needed something . Morty usually passed hings to him when he asked, but Beth had been crystal clear this time: he was risking at school ,he had to brought his grades back from the brink of death. Suspended adventures.

Rick sighed, his eyelids at half mast, his mouth stretched in an intolerant expressionof arrogant sufficiency. He could bring Summer. But it wasn't the same. He had tried.

He stared at the worktop with his screwdriver in his hand. If he wanted, he could also have invented something that could pass the tools to him Actually, he had it, the little butter robot.

He had tried.

But it wasn't the same.

He belched, releasing his grip on the object.

Morty startled rom his sleep as he heard the recreation bell.

"Oh, finally awake. Whether there you are or not the lessons changes very little, actually," said Mr. Goldenfold.

"Yeah, sorry ..." piped Morty, visibly uncomfortable, his cheeks burning a bright red from embarrassment. The class stood up, laughing and going outside. Morty looked at Jessica, who returned his awkard stare She wasn't laughing. Small consolation.

Lunch was made up of fish sticks with a side of mashed potatoes, which Morty was eating alone: Rick often teased him, telling him that even if he had eaten all the ocean fauna it still wouldn't have made a difference to his stupid ass. There was no amount of selenium that could save him from his own idiocy. Morty discovered the insult association on the internet and from then on began eating more fish. You never knew: Rick was always too pessimistic.

Something cold and slimy gripped Morty's face in a mellow embrace. His breathing ceased, oxygen getting caught in his lungs as he struggled to see. He tried to move away from the table, pounding his fists against the wood: he wasn't breathing anymore, he couldn't move, he didn't ...

Finally he felt the grip in his hair, that he had hardly noticed before, give way, breathing in a huge breath: in his mouth he tasted the prepackaged purée, spread all over his face. Behind him, Tony, surrounded by a small group laughing with him. Morty removed the mash from his eyes to see better.

"Smith, how come you spend all this time at school? Is the old fool dead?" So much laughter, from everyone. Morty was completely impasted, but he still managed to see in the back of the cafeteria, behind Tony. Summer was staring at the scene.

"N-no, I ... w-what d..."

"W-w-w-what d-d-do you want?" Tony said to him, exasperating his stutter.

Morty turned, trying to get up, but the bully crushed him against the table, taking his breath away.

"Come on, tell the truth, it's cracked in one of those holes made of green shit, isn't it? Or did he give you up too?"Morty also saw Jessica, who was watching and frowning. The boy took courage, and pushed him away, or at least he tried. A punch caught him in the face, forcing him to the ground. Tears stung his eyes from the pain, as well as the laughter from everyone that surrounded him.

"Uh, you have to have too many bumps on your head..."

"Y-you, who wouldn't last a minute in those portals." The laughter quieted, uncertain, and the students turned their eyes to Tony.

The bully gritted his teeth, taking him by the shirt and lifting him from the ground, ready for another punch. Morty covered himself with his hands, narrowing his eyes.

The blow didn't come. Summer had locked Tony's arm, right at the sound of the class bell. The two stared at each other. Morty's sister had a hard look, very clear and unmistakable: that was enough.

Tony stared , looking her up and down and struggling, dropping Morty to collapse on the floor: "Family of losers..." Summer had an imperceptible look of hurt at the insult, which contained the word she most feared and hated

The crowd disappeared, each spectator headed for his respective classroom. Morty rose from the ground, rubbing his struck cheek, smiling at his sister: "T-thanks Sum..."

"You should stop making people pity you, Morty." That point-blank phrase was worse than Tony's punch. Morty was astonished, motionless. Summer turned to him and could see contempt in her eyes: "Do you want to be like daddy? Do you want to keep others close to you just because they pity you?"

Summer didn't say anything else, turning on her heels, leaving him there on the floor and watching her leave. The silence of the cafeteria made that phrase ring out, which he would have gladly exchanged with another punch.

...

Rick was finishing up the last sip of his faithful flask; shit, he had to make one that re-filled itself every time he emptied it.

Well, why not do it now?

"Hey, Rick"

Rick didn't turn around, engaged in a calculation to see if it was possible to apply a teleporter to the bottom of the flask, connected directly to his favorite whiskey factory.

"Hey, M-Morty. Have you already taken a six or a seven so we can doooOoOO away with this interdimensional curfew antics? I already beeeurroke my balls of being segregated in this garage because of your failures, l-lil' dipshit ."

Morty didn't answer. He hadn't even entered the garage completely.

"Rick... Is there an alternate dimension where I'm -I'm not ... like this?"

"Mh?" Rick wasn't sure he understood what his grandson had told him. And Rick hated not being sure he understood things. "What the fuck are y-you talking about, Morty?" Rick finally turned to look at him, noticing a beginning of black eye. His eyes narrowed; his stomach twisted just like it had with King Jellybean, when Morty had finally left the bathroom.

"I-I just want to know if we Morties are all like this, or if there is s-someone who is maybe, y'know… a little b-bit different?"

Morty shuffled into the garage, his left hand scraping at his right arm in a nervous tick. He was looking down, as though ashamed to be in Rick's presence. Rick stared at him, beginning to understand: he had a stomach cramp. He was definitely too sober.

"Explain yourself. Formulate better. What do you mean like this?"Rick had no particular inflection in his voice, not annoyed or worried. At most it was a curiosity of a scientist that seemed to move him. Yes, It was scientific curiosity. What else could it be?

Morty swallowed, looking at him: "Well... l-like…this." Morty seemed to define himself, with a self-pity that was pathetic for an underlying helpless awareness. Unarmed, in front of everything. Here was the difference between the two of them: when Morty assumed awareness, he could only be crushed, whether he rebelled, or surrendered. Rick was different. He was perpetually aware and able to decide the fate of the cosmos. So why did that knowledge make him drink so as not to think? Not to think that perhaps he too, after all, was helpless in the face of that awareness. That nothing mattered, nothing was special, everything was random; not significant.

Morty went on, unaware of Rick's thoughts: "Maybe there is s-some Morty that looks less like d-dad and more like mom."

"More like me, you mean." Rick stood up, walking over and crossing his arms. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Morty looked up, unable to look into his eyes because of their height difference and considered that question.

No.

Not like him.

"N-no..." Rick raised his eyebrow inquisitively. "Just less i-insec... pitiful."

The two remained silent. Morty hated that look: he felt like a guinea pig, an experiment to probe at his brain lines. Some Rick must have already done it, after all, to discover what made them a cloak, a human shield . It wasn't that look he wanted ... it was reassurance, an understanding, but he was asking the wrong man: Rick was not able to feel empathy for the feeling of inferiority; he didn't possess it. Perhaps it was the only thing in the universe that he didn't know. It was then that Morty, besides being pitiful, felt stupid, again. That was Rick's look: contempt for a stupid person. The instinct to escape grew in the boy like a weed , before Rick bent over on his knees, looking more closely at that black eye.

"If there is, most likely in that dimension you and I would have nothing to do with each other. That's not how it works between Ricks and the Morties . "

...

What the fuck did he mean? What the fuck was that answer?

Morty wasn't stupid. He was a fucking idiot if he expected something different from Rick, the moment he showed him his side, asking him ...

What? What did he want from him?

Morty stepped back, pursing his lips. He had a look of defiance that Rick had seen only when he had discovered he was a human shield, but more adult, though veiled by tears even now: "Because you need us stupid, right?"

Rick remained silent, narrowing his eyes: an arrogant Morty could be a problem for everyone. He remembered telling him that long ago. He was responding too much lately. He was becoming a little too perceptive.

A little too much like you?

The two were interrupted by Beth, who entered the garage, unaware of the chill between them. Rick immediately concealed, with a smile dedicated to his daughter. He often did this game with Beth; to be a good boy for always having won.

"Dinner is ready, boys!" She said with a radiant smile to his father; it has to be a good day. Or at least that's what Morty believed: "After that Morty immediately go to sleep, so tomorrow you'll have no problem staying awake in class: your professor called me."

A malevolent smile curled the lips of Rick, who was enjoying the scolding. Morty sighed, turning toward the door and past his mother. Rick felt his daughter briefly worry about his nephew's black eye; he pressed the button of the garage door, closing it.

It was an extremely quiet dinner. At least for Rick and Morty. Summer instead spoke all the time: it was because she wanted to avoid focusing attention on her brother's black eye or because she felt guilty about what she had said to Morty, it was not known. Probably the first one. Better. Neither Morty want to talk about it, to tell the truth; he was more voluntarily and deliberately ignoring Rick, who apparently was doing the same. Oh God, not that it was voluntarily, it was natural for the scientist to ignore him; he didn't have to make any effort.

But Rick didn't need to look directly at Morty to see with the corner of his eye the hand of the boy resting on his chubby cheek, his eyes frowning; he saw him share his scallops with a fork, without eating them. He, on his own, was enjoying them fully instead. Screw him, if he wanted his ass to be gnawed, it wasn't his problem. Make the victim, that shit; a common denominator of all Mortys: to be victims, prey, shoulders, assistants.

Slaves.

A small voice in his head suggested that word, powerfully. Rick knew it wasn't bullshit: his subconscious gave birth to it, which had to be just as brilliant.

It was also true that his logical intelligence was superior to anyone in any fucking universe, but his emotional intelligence was ... well, let's say he didn't apply particularly. He and Morty were autistic in two different ways: the idiocy and the deep sensitivity of his nephew left him torn most of the times when they returned from an adventure where the irreparable happened. The mind-blowers were proof of this. He was also too vulnerable, that kid. And Rick hated weakness.

The sound of Morty's chair interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm going to do math," he said colorlessly, turning his heels to go upstairs.

"Ok, Morty. Dad, can't you give him a hand, so he goes to bed earlier? "Beth said, using with pleasure an excuse like so many to communicate with her father.

Rick opened his mouth for a timely vitriolic response, but Morty was faster.

"There is no need, I do it alone."

Rick looked at Beth, shrugging, brazenly uninterested; even the daughter for her part quickly forgot, finishing the bottle of wine that was on the table, hastily babbling that she had to go out. In addition to that, Rick did not miss even the look of Summer that followed Morty down the stairs, serious and inquiring.

Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.

You are as dumb as I am smart.

The numbers on the sheet made no sense. Or maybe it was the only thing that still had it, only he couldn't catch it. Maybe this is why Rick had become a scientist: mathematics does not lie and is concrete. One plus one makes two, end of the story. Or not? Maybe there was a reality where it wasn't like that. Maybe there was also a reality in which he hadn't heard those sentences and was just a normal kid; a loser, yes, a disadvantaged, but fundamentally normal, aware only of the fact that life was life, not an immense spiral without any sense or direction.

He threw his pen against the wall, hitting the lamp and taking his head in his hands.

Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.

That's enough.

Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.

THAT'S ENOUGH.

"What fucking problem do you have?" Rick was leaning against the door frame, staring at him with crossed arms, low eyelids.

"Apart from that I am retarded, useless, interchangeable and of little relevance as everything that exists outside of me? Nothing, it's all fucking perfect, thanks for asking. "Morty didn't even look at him, bent over his desk, refocusing on his homeworks.

Rick rolled his eyes, entering the room.

"Whatever ... but this curfew for me is over, come on, I need something" he took Morty's arm, lifting him from the chair.

"What... n-no!" Morty struggled, sitting back, tearing his arm from his grip.

Rick turned predatory; never take something from his hands that he considered, nay, WAS his. He grabbed him again, raising him to his feet, squeezing the soft flesh so tightly and twisting his arm in a corner that was almost unnatural, close to breaking it. Morty let out a groan of pain, bringing his hand over Rick's, slipping over it in an attempt to get rid of it. Immediately his eyes became clear, his breathing quicker: he looked at him with a prayer in his eyes, angry and imploring at the same time.

"N-no! Rick ... y-you're hurting me! Leave me! P-please! "Morty bit his tongue, closing his eyes in pain. He hated praying to him, it wasn't fair. Why was he always pushing him up to that point ...?

Rick dragged him out of the room and his grip was iron, there was no way to break free; Morty pointed his feet, still trying to lift his clenched fingers around his wrist, which was beginning to throb as it was tight. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Rick looked straight ahead, regardless of Morty's prayers; he didn't want to look at him anyway. His tears distracted him from the journey he had in his head for hours now. His moans, however, could still be heard, mixed with quick breathing; if he closed his eyes he could almost mistake them for...

He felt his shoulder give way and turned to Morty: the boy had thrown himself to the ground, putting his whole body and weight (scarce) in a stubborn protest. Rick gritted his teeth: he would pay for it. He would have fucking paid for it. He yanked it violently and Morty exploded into another scream, biting his lips; he didn't want to give him satisfaction. Rick, on the other hand, was so close to getting his shoulder out. Morty had to understand him: he was nothing compared to him, he could do nothing. Why the fuck couldn't he just be dominated, submissive, totally helpless in front of him? It was, he just had to take note.

And would you like it anyway?

That was just another Rick and Morty fight. Rick and Morty forever. Should it have been like this forever?

Why couldn't Rick simply understand when he needed to be alone, to be listened to, helped? Why couldn't he even help him when he asked so clearly?

What stupid questions.

Morty stopped beating, crying and shouting: he let himself go, interrupting any resistance and looking empty in front of him.

Rick couldn't help anyone.

The scientist turned to look at him, furious, but he also seemed to be stuck at the sight of Morty.

Rick couldn't even help himself.

The two remained fixed, immobile, looking at each other.

Truce.

"If you stop doing all this mess, I'd like to enjoy my season finale." Summer watched them from her bedroom door, arms crossed. She was Rick's worthy granddaughter; their attitudes were often frighteningly similar. The situation became dramatically comic: they were nailed in the corridor like two idiots, under the bleak gaze of Summer.

Rick was not comfortable in the part of the idiot: he let go of Morty, driving his arm out of his grip.

"Screw you" he muttered, coming down the stairs, probably headed for the garage.

Morty stood up, rubbing his shoulder and turning to Summer, finding a door slammed in his face.

The sound of the spaceship coming out of the garage, directed somewhere, invaded the corridor.

Morty found himself alone, with the muffled sound of Summer's TV that always reminded him of the same phrase that now he wanted to receive instead of saying.

Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.


	2. Nothing

The moans were becoming more and more frequent, rising in volume and intensity. That room was hot, too hot and sweat dripped from the blue skin of the alien above him.

The woman's green hair was uncombed; her three breasts kept bouncing with every movement.

Rick watched the scene, almost like a spectator. His mouth was bent downwards, his eyelids drooping over disinterested, distant eyes. He was annoyed. It was his classic bored and tired expression.

Lying on that bed, he felt the beautiful alien move over him, straddling his pelvis, which kept his cock in and out of her extraterrestrial cunt. Anyone would have experienced it as an extraordinary moment, getting lost in observing the streaks of blue skin. That race had a peculiarity: the closer they where to orgasm, the more the skin shone, almost like a lapis lazuli. The alien had to be very close.

Rick narrowed his eyes, shielding himself with his hand: as she reached orgasm the woman lit up like a diamond struck by the sun, almost blinding him.

The moans quieted, fading into deep breaths; the woman lowered her back, resting her thick green hair on Rick's chest. But the man moved her, making her fall next to him. He lied down, with his erection now free; he was not the least bit close to orgasm, and was still hard.

He didn't care about the psychological disturbances that could arise from sexual positions: he didn't need to feel superior fucking his partners doggy style or making them submit in other ways; he was already superior to them, though they rode him. Of course, he found it much more horny to be in a dominant position, but it was different from having power. Power was psychological and there was no way that he felt inferior or submissive to anyone. Sometimes he wondered how that could be, but being alpha in everything made the experience impossible to understand and, at times, even undesirable.

He felt the alien's hand tighten around his cock as she positioned herself down between his legs: her three breasts rubbed against his still hard erection; her mouth approached the tip of his cock, still wet with her liquids. Rick stopped her before she could get to lick him with her mouth, taking her hair and moving her back to the side.

Rick closed his eyes, bringing forefinger and thumb to rub them, sighing through his closed mouth. The alien looked at him , worried, not understanding what she had done wrong or what she could do to remedy the situation. The truth was that she was scared. Concerned.

"Is something wrong, Rick Sanchez?" She ventured.

_Yeah what's wrong, Rick?_

Rick opened his eyes, staring back at the ceiling.

That pussy. That fucking victim, whining and pedantic like a pain in the ass.

I am useless, interchangeable, retarded, boo-hoo Yes, yes. You are. Do you want to keep complaining or do something about it ?

_Like accept it?_

It was a continuous lament, although he had done everything to meet him: he had respected the curfew, he had gone to ask him how he was, he would even have taken him on a secret adventure to distract him. What the fuck did he have?

_Maybe he tried to tell you, but you don't give a fuck._

Exactly, so what?

_And so maybe now you feel guilty._

Okay, his conscience was either way too serious or was becoming a pussy like Morty.

Rick grunted, pulling his body up. That sexual encounter was over for him. Even his cock agreed, now at rest.

He put on his coat, looking for his boxers around. Where the fuck were they? On the way he found his flask, shaking it: empty. If it hadn't been for Morty he would have finished building the self-filling one. Damn brat.

"Can I ... can I do something?" Piped the alien.

Rick rolled his eyes, before turning around abruptly: "Yes, you can give me m-my fu_beeeurp_ fucking clothes so I can leave."

The alien retreated, curling up on herself: she trembled and her eyes quickly became shining as she changed color.

"F-forgive me ..." she said softly, in a ringing voice.

Rick frowned, looking at her with a strange interest: the skin of the woman had turned yellow, colored with fear. It was a bright yellow, almost ... ridiculous. He found himself staring at her, without explaining the reason. His cock soared upward again, suddenly. Rick turned, walking back toward the girl; the eyes of a predator.

Morty was in front of the garage door. He had his backpack on his shoulders, ready for school. He rocked on his heels, with his hand hovering in mid-air to knock, before he, last, brought it down, scratching his belly.

Why did he have to look for him?

It was like saying that Rick was always right, always, anyway.

_Exactly_.

Often even Morty didn't know what the right or wrong thing was. It appeared labile and, above all, relative. This fact of the relativity was the worst discovery he could have made on his travels with Rick. In getting to know Rick, in general. If something was important, it wasn't really said to be; nor that it was true, or false, or right, or wrong, or even real. Morty pinched his stomach. It was real, wasn't it? He was real, wasn't he? There were so many scenarios in his mind: he could be an android, a clone, a new ... a new Mor-

"Ah!" Morty let go of his belly; without realizing it he had begun to tighten his grip more and more, until he felt a jolt of pain. He raised his shirt: the skin was red and the marks of his nails evident. But the boy seemed to have the right charge to look ahead and knock; he felt lighter.

"R-Rick?"

No reply. Not even a burp. Well, that was to be expected. Morty had already known that Rick would make him pay for being a brat earlier. Morty sighed, unable to open the door.

"L-listen, Ric k ... I-I... sorry, it's a p-period that I know—I'm nervous and I have a little bit too many t-thoughts, I ... I realize that. I'm sorry I answered you in that way ye-yesterday."

Nothing. He had to be angry. Or was he drunk and sleeping?

"Rick ... could you… would you like to take me to school today ? I can even skip it if you want. Rick? "

Morty lowered the door handle, peering inside with his head poking through the doorway. He frowned when he saw the empty work table. He went inside, keeping his characteristic caution in moving, realizing that not only wasy Rick missing , but also the spaceship. The garage seemed so unrealistically empty and silent without those two presences. It just looked like… a garage .

Morty found himself staring at the puddle of oil where the spaceship usually stood, blankly.

He heard Summer's voice coming out of the house, slamming the door, and he returned to the present. He looked up, leaving the garage to go to school.

He had never, ever, missed adventures so much before.

Tony seemed to have calmed down. Or at least he had turned his anger elsewhere and not to Summer's brother. It's a pity that , when he passed her through the corridors , he gave her a murderous look.

Summer was distracted from her thoughts, receiving another message on her cell phone, which made the table in the cafeteria tremble. Her fingers moved in response, when "Pussy" appeared on the display screen. Summer frowned before looking ahead, peering into the cafeteria for a familiar face: and, bingo . She was sitting just behind Morty, few tables lower. He smiled uncertainly, with a hand that timidly rose upwards. Summer looked around nervously before shaking her head, as if to ask him "What the fuck do you want, jerk-off?" Yes, that was the look.

Morty resumed tapping at the screen of his phone and Summer let her face fall into the palm of her hand, looking up at the sky. She looked resignedly at the screen, waiting for a message.

"Do you know where Rick is?"

Summer didn't even bother to answer, simply shrugging carelessly, looking at her brother. Morty resumed writing, biting his lip.

"Do you know if he told mom when he was coming back? "

Summer spread her arms impatiently, as if to say that she knew absolutely nothing. At that gesture his brother stopped smiling, looking at her without really seeing her; his eyes were lost, absorbed, his lips were a thin line. Summer felt something move in the pit of her stomach; Morty was so close. Why couldn't she just get up and get to him? Especially now that he had that expression.

Yeah. Why not?

Maybe because she was like Beth and Rick. And Morty was much more like Jerry.

Summer felt the feeling in her stomach sharpen before a friend of hers brought her back to the world, showing her the last Instagram story of Aaron McCarney training in the pool. Even Summer, however, didn't really see the phone in front of her.

Morty was in the garden, just outside the front door. He was sitting on the grass and kept passing a tennis ball, lost in his thoughts, from hand to hand.

Where was Rick?

He had been gone for two days. Ok, it happened that he stayed out for a night. Very often, actually.

But by the next morning he was normally on the couch, busy burping or vomiting in a devastating hangover, which Morty could now handle, unless he degraded to violent intoxication in which he had seen Rick's scarier sides emerge. But at least he was there. He was present.

Morty cursed himself, even though he didn't think it was right. Why had he irritated him so much? He had made him escape. Wait, no; Rick didn't run away. He just went away.

_Forever_.

Morty felt a cold shiver down his spine and the ball stopped.

Was that what it meant to be like his mother? Being forever afraid of waking up and not never seeing Rick again? Morty's stomach tangled, with a sense of loss, but also of disgust. Towards his mother, so weak and dominated by her father, but also towards himself.

Just before Rick had turned himself over to the Intergalactic Government, Morty had stopped him: he remembered perfectly what he had told him. Mom can't live without you, I can.

_I can._

So why was there this feeling of emptiness?

Morty's heart tightened as the chills increased. His eyes became bright in an instant.

He tried to imagine his life without Rick, that he never came back, that he could finally have a normal life. At school without problems, in an attempt to integrate easier, no more alarms during the night, no more wounds from monstrous mutants, no more crimes, insults, lies, nothing more...

Anything.

An empty, gigantic nothing. Nothingness.

Morty began to breathe quickly, unnaturally. His hands went up to his face, to tug at his hair, in an attempt to distract himself with pain.

A black hole. Nothingness. The void. Death . The absolute and monumental senselessness of the Universe and everything beyond it. And that was nothing.

_He was nothing._

That was what came to his mind after years of abuse and a suffocating presence that was his only guide , and what was almost similar to someone who held him in some esteem. And now, after years, it was impossible to see anything else after that preponderant drug. It was so mixed with his blood by now. Rick was everywhere in him; in his body, that he had manipulated as if it were one of his many experiments, and in his head, completely addicted and sick so as not to see any other possibility of existence.

Morty Smith was nothing without Rick Sanchez.

He was alone.

Morty was hyperventilating, his hands clenched around strands of hair and his eyes wide open from which tears flowed. His teeth clenched, his head went back and forth, his knees came closer to his chest. A muffled and acute whine tried to free itself from his throat, but nothing could enter or leave, not even the air.

_Alonewronguselesssenselessinacoldemptyandsilentuniverseforever._

Morty screamed, screamed so loudly that he felt like he had turn out his throat.

A roar, sudden and bombastic, covered his scream and any other noise around. A metallic and explosive sound that forced the boy to look up at the sky, covered by a large black disk that had obscured the sun. Morty knew that sound and that silhouette by heart.

Rick's spaceship sank into the grass, the breeze ruffling Morty's hair, making him shiver from the cool wind that came in contact with his sweaty skin.

The spaceship landed and silence rung through the air..

Morty felt like he couldn't breathe. His eyes were fixed on the door.

The door opened and the familiar sound of dozens of empty bottles falling to the ground reached his ears.

An even more familiar grunt stopped his heartbeats.

"Uhnn ..."

A long leg, which looked almost like that of a giant spider, came down from the spaceship, setting a foot on the ground. Rick's white coat fluttered in the air, anticipating his descent.

Rick Sanchez was in the midst of a fucking hangover; his hair was unkempt, strange stains on his coat and the dribble that came out of his mouth looked even more acid than usual.

Morty remained on the ground until Rick noticed his presence.

The scientist stared at him; half-closed eyes and lips t stretched in a pained and contemptuous grimace at the same time.

"Ah, there you - beeeurp - are..."

Rick stretched, before rubbing his eyes with one hand. The sun bothered him. Anything seemed to bother him.

He walked over to Morty, who was staring at him with wide eyes and a strange expression on his face. Rick raised an eyebrow inquisitively. He almost looked like a child meeting Santa Claus.

Rick arrived in front of him, covering the sun again, almost surrounding him, despite his lanky stature.

He wiped the drool with the sleeve of his coat as he narrowed his eyes: he had blurred vision and could not understand. Did Morty have wet cheeks? Was he crying?

"What's up now, Mor-"

Rick felt a tightness to his waist and a warm feeling in his belly.

He spread his arms and looked down, seeing some brown hair streaked with a lovely honey colour that was resting on his dirty and smelly shirt, regardless of both the things.

Morty was holding him tight, strong .

_It's called a "hug"._

Rick could feel the tears on the boy's cheeks wetting his shirt, but it wasn't important at that moment. What he felt was simply the urgency of that contact. The desperation of that contact. The need.

Something twisted inside him; a strange mix between his ego delighted by that attention and that admission of guilt by Morty. A grin almost moved his lips.

"Sorry".

The other feeling was an unpleasant awareness of having won again without deserving anything.

"S-sorry, Rick ... please. Please…"

Rick lowered a hand on the boy's back, which almost seemed to get a jolt. His long pale fingers moved slightly on Morty's ridiculous yellow t-shirt, in something that , more than a caress , was a _tasting_. Check ing that one of his things was as he had left it.

"What, Morty?"

Morty looked up at the man and Rick had no more doubts: yes, he was crying. His big eyes stared at him desperately. Rick looked back, not giving him any other emotion.

Morty bit his lip, as if what he was about to say was costing him more than Rick could understand and imagine.

"Don't leave".

Rick put his hand up to rest on the boy's hair, feeling wet. He was sweating more than the temperature of the day justified. He stroked the strand innocently, or so he wanted Morty to believe.

That was the only time that Morty felt more like Beth than Jerry.


End file.
